Now the heart is a curious thing. In the realm of love, its idiosyncrasies are betrayed by the word itself. It is a linguistic anachronism having nothing to do with the pulmonary organ and everything to do with an amalgam of synaptic impulses and hormonal surges, cross wired with love, hate, lust, pain, fear, joy, survival, and pride. I don't expect you to fully understand this jumble of yours. I most definitely do not understand mine.

love is...


2 particles in a billion swirling desert rising from unbounded flatness spiral storm of doomed disobedience fighting flat entropy irresistible peacemaker time in rebellious twisting anti gravity pulled repelled interleaved upwards shimmering reflected sunlit high frequency tandem pirouettes rippling hot swathed with warm chaos strung in rising eagerness skyward toward false infinity on the cusp of forever that will never come resisting momentarily the steady indomitable march to nothing.

fuck you and your boundless apathy. fuck your opaque affronts, your fucking vaguaries. fuck your fucking inability to be honest. fuck fuck fuck you. Fuck you and your turn aways. Fuck you and your silence. Fuck you and your excuses. Fuck you fuck you fuck you. Fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfu

ckfuckfuck. Fuck your moments of confused affection. Fuck your shut downs. Fuck you and your casual dalliances. Fuck your easy air. Fuck your lack of emotion. Fuck your pitying gestures. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuck your lies. Fuckem. Fuck your undefined relationships. Fuck your self justified detachment. Fuck your ability to move on. Fuck your passivity. Fuck fuck fucKkkkkkkk. Fuck your selfishness. Fuck your lack of concern. Fuuuuuuccckkkkyou. And fuck my inablity to properly leave you.

simpler things

shadowless glow from an overcast street
meandering maze of cracked concrete

meaning made from a new afternoon

babbling brook, twisting alley to gutter
magic of daylight's surprise departure

forgiving time for leaving so soon

soothing electric red neon humming
inverted flurry of beer bubbles bubbling

poetry found in empty bar stools

refreshing cold tile, flourescently lit
curious smelling textured vomit

soothing senses, awash in drool

inventing meaning out of the mundane
garnering strength through recurrent pain
tasting the sweetness in shit this life brings
by finding beauty in simpler things

i strive to love what little is there
an alchemy of the impossibly rare
but i find myself still unable to bear
knowing that still, you can't possibly care



shadowless glow from an overcast street
meandering maze of cracked concrete

meaning made from a new afternoon

smart is genius

fatboyroy: go soon yes no?
monkey pilly: working on something
monkey pilly: want to come down to my desk?
fatboyroy: no
monkey pilly: ok
monkey pilly: then wait
fatboyroy: fine
fatboyroy: i dont like cola
fatboyroy: it has too much sugar
fatboyroy: it makes my mouth feel ickyy
fatboyroy: i like sprite
fatboyroy: it is light and refreshing
fatboyroy: weasels are strange lookinh
fatboyroy: they're like furry eels with legs
fatboyroy: and no gills
fatboyroy: i wonder if they'd taste good over rice.
fatboyroy: I like sesame street
fatboyroy: except for big bird
fatboyroy: he talks funny
fatboyroy: and his friend snufflufagus is shady
fatboyroy: I dont like ronald mcdonald either
fatboyroy: or micky mouse
fatboyroy: they all talk the same
fatboyroy: i think they all have a common birth defect
fatboyroy: effecting their speed of speech
fatboyroy: and also their nasal passages
fatboyroy: mebbe that gene is linked
fatboyroy: stuffed nose and slow speech
fatboyroy: i dunno why they're representative of their respective franchises
fatboyroy: i could pick far better frontmen for each
fatboyroy: i'd take cookiemonster at sesame street
fatboyroy: Grimace at mcdonalds
fatboyroy: and daffy duck at Disney
fatboyroy: Kermit the frog seems to share that gene
fatboyroy: and the leading man position at his establishment
fatboyroy: but he's strangely likeable
fatboyroy: i think its cause his arms and legs are so long and gangle
fatboyroy: and his eyes are so big
fatboyroy: i think he's cute
fatboyroy: mebbe thats why i have such gay tendancies now
fatboyroy: cause i watched cute male puppet characters at a young age
fatboyroy: i like paintball
fatboyroy: it can hurt sometimes
fatboyroy: especially in tyhe winter
fatboyroy: cause the paintballs freeze up
fatboyroy: my friend told me
fatboyroy: that his cousin
fatboyroy: who likes to paintball alot
fatboyroy: used to freeze a box of paintballs
fatboyroy: in his freezer
fatboyroy: and use them on the field just to get a laugh out of seriously hurting people.
fatboyroy: his cousin was strange
fatboyroy: he 's massive, like 6'4"
fatboyroy: and he has lokg hair
monkey pilly: ok, let's go
fatboyroy: like a rock star or a wrestler
fatboyroy: he looks kinda redneck like
fatboyroy: but he was born and raised in brooklyn
fatboyroy: like the jerky boys
fatboyroy: he looks like that
fatboyroy: ok u ready?
fatboyroy: did u read my deep thoughts?
fatboyroy: i will email them to you
fatboyroy: because reading them over
fatboyroy: they seem too profound to waste

I have this habit of staring into the mirror and imagining my face, post-mordem, after some gruesome accident. I noticed this habit the other day, staring into my bedroom mirror after a shower, when i shocked myself with the grotesque face staring back at me. I have this notion that in my casket, at my wake, pple will see my face as it is without any of my self-concious posturing. My lips will be protrude as they do when I'm not noticing them, my chin will disappear as my jaw hangs limply into my neck, and by eyes will take on that unfocused dull sheen they have when half closed. I imagine that is how i normally look, half dead, to most pple when not primping myself in the looking glass.

I remember in art class, mebbe 5th grade, as Mrs. Blumenthal was giving an art history lecture, putting my head on the table and letting every muscle relax, convoluded and unforced in death. I kept my eyes half open as i had seen someone in a movie do after being shot dead in the head. And i sat there for half an hour, taking pleasure in the other kids puzzled looks, until the lecture was over. I dunno why that should be so much fun.

american summer

You dance, savor each step,
each sticky pop your bare foot makes
as you peel it from a blissfully damp wooden porch.
Turning slowly in rhythm with the undulating sheets of rain,
rising on your toes with each creciendo,
you close your eyes, and the roaring static on the roof above,
could be waves crashing on rocky shores,
or wind rattling autumn colored trees.
You can't resist the smile, as it takes your lips,
freed by a wind blown mist settling on your skin,
coolly flowing through your feathery dress,
a tactile reminder of the midsummer shower falling around you.
And in the cold, you stay warm
with the presence of that strong, gentle face,
somewhere alongside you
admiring his oblivious daughter's twirls of simple joy.
Oh, i wish i knew you then,
watching the flowing grey sheets
cascade over distant blue mountains.
So simple yet forever unreachable.
That I might understand what you imagined
drinking your beloved small town air,
knowing that one day
you would leave it all behind.
Because i see all this in your eyes,
and i wonder how true it is,
and how you might have changed since,
and if what i see really exists at all.
But i have come to understand
whether in truth or fancy,
still you dance, in time or in dreams,
carefree, eternally somewhere
frozen in the American summer.

Derpri/aved...
When I was a kid, my sister and I would sneak into the pantry to smuggle sweet, tangy mouthfuls of Metamucil.

Delicious...

We're screwed anyway so screw it!

Says kong. I agree.

Ever wish you could just disappear?
Not leave this world, but just disapppear. So you could still watch everything that goes on (cause the world can be amazing at times) but not have anyone feel sorry for your being there. And you could be silent without anyone feeling uncomfortable for you. So you can say the most insignificant of comments and not see pple struggle for a reply. So you could waft around and observe humans interact in their strange subtle ways without polluting anything.
No, you haven't? Ah, yes yes, me niether.

another dream

living with my aunt in midwest
depressed cause the land is so flat and characterless
sis says, no its not
looked outside and she was right
it was hilly, but treeless
grove of bare joshua trees
circle sun in monotone cloudless blue sky
dark green diorama-like grass hills
everything shrunken in scale
i feel claustrophobic

aunt deals in decrepit real estate
many years ago during a speculative housing boom in the area large mansions and houses were built
industry and jobs never came, houses were abandoned
now, largely deserted for miles around
i notice sporatic large broken down houses dotting the landscape
one house, rotted wood roof, partially collapsed, remaining beams like a spindly exoskeleton
trees growing by its walls, one growing inside, leaves protruding from the broken ceiling
watched it rotate in its miniture model scale as we drove past in the car

we went to visit 2 old men
living together with their wives in their ripe 80s
their house is large and well maicured
we meet at a patio table by their well maintained pool
old man one comes out, the polite, well mannered one.
welcomes us to his home
his buddy comes out next, buddies for dozens of years,
still gregarious and energetic in his ripe age
i admire his energy and social ease.
we chat, he has everyones full attention, smiles brimming on each face
periodically breaking into laughter on his cue
he mentions something about columbia
mentions something about not having a subway over 3 floors below the room
i dispute it
i had a dorm room 2 floors above the 1/9 line
i flashback to my dorm room
the staircase past the first floor of schapiro down below the red 1/9 subway plaque into the steel and concrete platform of the IRT.
"well damnnit i guess its true," concludes the old man effusively with a smile.
i admire his candor.
i wish i could have his ease.

my latest dream...

making amends

Green carnival turned silver gray as dusk settled,
We followed the crowds to go home
But you took my hand, and this time I let you,
And we ran away,
And ran for miles,
Under shimmering evening spotlights,
Filtered mercury between shifting summer vines,
Across picket fenced backyard gardens,
Lazily tended and country wild,
Around drowsy clotheslines,
Gently swayed by sweeping zephers,
Until a chilled glass stream
Stopped us in the field.
You lept with reckless abandon,
While fear and joy stopped my heart,
Til somehow, weathered black wood
Creaked and caught you,
Yielding but too old to give.
Your spirit, free for me, let you smile,
As you bounded across the water,
And inspired, I followed.
There we stopped and held each other,
Waiting, watching,
Those voluminous clouds of steam grow closer,
Still echoing silently in the distance,
Amidst a whistle in the wind.
They followed the old iron tracks,
Hiding here in the brush,
Streching toward us and beyond,
Disappearing to a point over the plains,
Leading somewhere, a far somewhere,
A destination curious and foreboding,
Yet immediately irrelevant,
Trivial in the now,
Transcended by our moment.

nightmare

There we were, all on a school field trip in some circular waiting area, getting ready to go home. Everyone was just sitting around relaxing. I saw Her, sitting with my buddy Sam on a curved bench along the circular wall, and by habit, did my best to ignore her. She had her arm around him, and they were joking, having a good time. As I watched, she began trying to sit on his lap, as Sam tried his best to not flirt. She kept laughing and pulling his knee over, and he kept smiling, resisting amicably, wishing to just sit there in peace. I watched all this indignantly, unable to believe my eyes. Is this what she was all about? Had i been wrong the whole time?

Suddenly, mad with dissappointment and anger, I found myself over on the bench pulling her off. I was possesed with rage and intense sadness -- I realized the girl I had admired and adored was nothing more than a manipulative flirt. I was practically standing on top of her, tugging at her arm. She was confused, but not half as confused as I was. I tried playing it off, just laughing and pushing her in the head, but what i really wanted to do was knock her damn head off. Instead I just kept pushing it, repressed, as she laughed awarkly trying to understand my strange game. Everyone in the room was surprised at my outburst.

I got up... I had to get out of there. What was happening?? The room became incredibly warm... and to my horror, I felt hot salty tears bubble behind my eyeballs. Oh where have you gone, my beautiful, naive, unsassuming love? Lost forever, meandering in my convoluded imagination, I cried for you as you floundered, destined never to find your way to reality.

Terrible, pitying eyes surrounded me and I lowered my head to avoid their glare. Get out! Get out! Where the hell was my bag? I scurried around room, searching frantically for it underneth tables and between peoples' legs. The tears erupted, and my false half smile transformed into a full fledged bitter grin. I laughed with shame, and stumbled about for my bag. I passed by the bench where she still sat but, couldn't look towards it. In the irony of the situation, my bag was probably beneith it. I didn't care. I didn't care about much at that point. I burst outside, a beautiful sunny day, distorted and surreal through tear warped eyes.

I woke up and hoped to feel relieved. But some nightmares shouldn't be forgotten.

About THAT CRAZY who crashed into the Pirelli Building...

How tenuous is our collective hold on order? All of a sudden humans on the edge of sociopathy have been given license for crashing planes into buildings and exploding bombs on attached to their bodies. Its a worldwide mob mentality where the floodgates have been opened and there are far too many eager to follow. Granted, psychopath crazies arent a new development. But though humankind hasn't advanced very far (if any) in decency, in modernity it weilds immensely greater power. Its only clearer now - what a fatal, sad combination.

Why purple is such a great color:

Vein black purple that is... None of that halfway, pinkish fuscia excuse for purple. Real purple is rich, cold, substantial, dark, and laden with subtleties. I've been told its a girl's color. Hogwash. Women lack the sophistication to appreciate it. Just kidding. I only play at mysognist.

on youth:

Don't try to be realistic until you've tried all that's impossible.

ON THE LIRR
Wonderful! That moment first thrust from slumber, the world ablaze, beautiful, new. Who was she? What will happen to us? Pieces of imagination still caught in cobwebs of semi-conciousness. When both the reality just blinked away and the world seen through burning eyes seem equally as true.

Then memory returns, and blissful dream images flicker away in florescent light. You're awake now. Its your stop. Get up and get on with life.

HOW TO LIVE
We, the rational, admire the exhuberant and envy their conviction. But when they fall (from their ephemeral heights inevitably into dispair), we sigh in pity, vindicated in having never ventured to believe or feel anything in earnest.